He eased his way onto the bed beside her, looking her over critically as he moved. Seeing her hurt bothered him. Hell, seeing anyone that he cared about hurting bothered him. It was different with Heather than it was for other people though. If Dean got scratched up, Sam would worry for a while but then he'd brush past it. It wouldn't be because he was unconcerned about his brother's condition, because Sam worried over Dean more than most family did for each other. But he knew that his brother could handle stuff like that. They were hunters. Getting hurt on a daily basis was kind of part of the job. So as long as Dean wasn't half dead or dying, then Sam wouldn't stress over it too much. Heather, however, was a different story entirely. He knew that she was tough as nails and could easily hold her own, but seeing her with the smallest injury made him nervous. He was overprotective of her. Plain and simple. Perhaps a tiny bit more than was necessary, but that was what happened when a person found love after losing another. Sometimes he got paranoid. Scared for no reason. He'd wake up in the middle of the night sometimes and the first thing that he'd do involved him staring up at the ceiling, expecting to see Heather sprawled across it's surface with a gash in her stomach and flames eating at her body. But she was never on the ceiling. She was always there. Right beside him. It was just for how long that worried him.
"It should help," he offered, shifting to push a pillow behind his back so that he could lean against the headboard. "It probably won't be as strong as the other stuff was, but at least you won't be loopy."